


Date With a Devil

by Haunt_Haunt_Haunt



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: Also Actual Arson, Arson, Bathroom Shenanigans, But With Arson, Canon-Typical Violence, Damien Isn't a Total Bastard, I may have a problem, Other, Senpai Notice Me, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Transpositivity, Unless You're an Establishment, Vera Is a Serious Bitch, in which case, mtf, trans reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 03:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14607792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haunt_Haunt_Haunt/pseuds/Haunt_Haunt_Haunt
Summary: You've had a rough day, but Damien is here to "light" it up.





	Date With a Devil

You sit in your desk, looking to all the world like you are working, but you aren't. You're drawing. You look up again, hoping the hellspawn you crush on won't notice, but of course, he doesn't. He's too busy dicking around with Mr. Booregard's chalkboard. Damien has never REALLY noticed you. He did talk to you once, and you thought that he finally recognized you, but no. He was just informing you that your shoe was untied and it was infuriating. He was hot, sure, but were you not just as attractive? Maybe its because you weren't popular? Or worse, did he have a problem with you? Was it that, unlike most people, you were born in the wrong body? You didn't know, and it killed you. He would always flick a glance in your direction, just to be looking at something near you. He was doing that now, and his yellow eyes settled on you. You felt a swell of comfort.

"Hey girl, move your fuckin' head. I can't see the door," he said, and turned back to drawing something profane on the chalkboard.

And then the elated feeling left you like air from a punctured lung. Of course you were just in the way. What was different? He hadn't noticed you before, and he wouldn't now. You moved your head anyway, because you couldn't help but listen to the red bastard.

Damien finished his pentagram and a number of other sigils. He was preparing to banish Mr. Booregard. Mr. Booregard was the phatasmal Hell Economics instructor, and it was a common prank to banish him. Mostly, it was because he just came back after a few hours, pissed off. Damien was often the culprit, but he could push it off on the Slayer. You guessed people didn't realize that the Arch-Prince of Hell Package comes with the knowledge of holy runes. He has to know how to deface them, after all. In floated Mr. Booregard, and as always, he took one look at the chalkboard and the runes came to life, glowing with pure white light. It bothered most of the people in the classroom. Even Damien himself jumped behind a desk. His denim jacket was singed. You had to put a hand over your eyes and duck since the target was right over your shoulder.

"Dammit!" Mr. Booregard moaned, then dispersed with a pop and a fizzle, spraying ectoplasm everywhere. The runes darkened again Damien giggled like crazy, standing from behind the chair.

"Class is over," he said, and grabbed his backpack, walking out. Most people shrugged and followed him. You grabbed your backpack too. There was no reason to stay anyway. Principal Giant Spider was just going to punish anyone left in the room.

You stopped by the bathroom and wavered for a minute. You hadn't tried using the right bathroom yet, because you were scared. You'd seen the news and knew how dangerous it was for people like you, but fuck it. You were going to use the right bathroom today. You brushed the ectoplasm from your skirt and went in. You walked in confidently but hoped that it was empty in here. It wasn't. You heard the slithering before you rounded the corner. It was Vera. She was doing the eyes on one of her snakes. It was an odd trend that had caught on among the gorgons, and Vera was always on cutting edge. You tried to just walk past and do your business. but then she spoke, and her words cut deep.

"Men aren't allowed in here," she said. It felt like she had punched you in the stomach.

You experienced a lot of emotions and wants at once. The first was to stab her in the eye with your pencil, but that wasn't helpful and she would probably just turn you into stone halfway through your charge. You decided on a tactful approach.

"I'm not a man, Vera. Go be a harpy somewhere else."

She turned with a gross smile on her face. It looked like Vera was in a fighting mood. Fuck.

"A harpy? Me?" She asked, putting a hand to her chest in mock disgust. "At least I'm not a drooling simpleton that can't pick the right bathroom."

Your rage boiled over as your composure cracked. You didn't need this today. You made a stupid mistake. You should have just gone in the other bathroom.

"Why do you have to be such a bitch? I was minding my own business."

"Because I don't like trannies, obviously. You kill my profits," she said, obviously enjoying the torment.

You felt the tears build up. Out of all the possible things she could have called you, she went with the lowest, vilest, most disgusting thing. She said the T-Word. Typical Vera. The fight or flight hit you. To your immediate regret, you ran out of the bathroom, crying. Her mocking laughter followed you. You slammed open the boys' bathroom door, running in and again, hoped it was empty. You just needed to cry. Of course, it wasn't, and now you were horrified. You dropped from one hell to an entirely different one, because this was a new circle of hell, specifically designed for people like you. Damien was sitting on the counter, smoking a cigarette. You ignored him and ran into the first stall. He didn't say anything. He just watched you and dragged on his cigarette. You couldn't fight it anymore. You cried. You heard the door open, and then close, and were certain you were alone. You cried for a couple minutes before you could compose yourself. This was the worst day of your life. You did your business, but your terror resurfaced when you opened the stall. Damien hadn't moved from the counter, and his eyes were drilling into you. You went over to the sink, hoping that a Slayer would end you right then and trying to look anywhere but his gorgeous face. He stuck the cigarette into the running water, then flicked it into the trash.

"Bad day?" He asked. You looked around. Surely he wasn't talking to you, but he was. The room was empty. The broom was wedged between the wall and the door. You knew that this was how most kids locked the door, but had never seen it.

"Umm, no. It's fine. I'm fine. How are you?" You asked, and cringed. That was lame and now he was going to think you were a dork too.

"Normally people don't cry when they are having a fine day," he said, and then stuck another cigarette into his mouth, snapped his fingers, which created an improvised thumb Zippo, and lit it before waving it out.

"It's just... really. It's my problem. You don't want to be bothered with it," you said, then turned off the sink. He was blocking the paper towels, so you planned to just wipe them on your denim skirt, but he stuck his hand out.

"Damien. I don't think I've met you before. Not seriously," he said. You shook, too baffled to tell him your name. You debated whether to tell him your real name, or your birth name, but he spoke before you could say anything and betray yourself. He took a few paper towels off the wall and handed them to you, then took a drag from his cigarette.

"So let's make it our problem. I don't like seeing pretty girls cry. Especially when they are obviously in the wrong place."

You looked at him like he was on fire, but then, this was Damien. Would that be so weird?

"I'm not in the wrong place. Vera made that pretty clear."

"Well, Vera is a bitch. What'd she do?" He asked, offering you his cigarette. You decided you wanted to look as cool as possible, so you took a drag, but when the smoke hit the back of your throat, you hacked and wheezed. He didn't seem to think any less of you, and went back to smoking like you hadn't totally embarrassed yourself.

"Easy. I smoke the stout shit. Take a small puff, inhale slowly through your nose, and then out again through the mouth," he said, offering the cigarette. You risked it and were rewarded with a pleasant sensation. The nicotine gave you a buzz, and you felt calmer. It tasted good, like an earthy herb, but with a tinge of sweetness. Cherries.

"There. Better? When you breathe in through your nose, you do it with your mouth too, though it's unconscious. It's the best way to start. Want your own?"

Your face heated. It didn't really hit you that you were putting your mouth on something his was on, and the intimacy shocked you for a minute, but you recovered.

"I'm okay. Thanks."

"So, what'd the harpy say?"

"Weird, I called her that and she got mad."

There was a bang on the door, like someone ran into it. He looked up, then looked back at you.

"Privacy. You were saying?"

You went over your options. Could you tell him? It was common knowledge that his dad, Stan, was gay, but this was a little different. You decided fuck it. Today couldn't get much worse.

"She called me the T-Word and said I didn't belong in the women's room."

His eyes got big and scary, turning red, and the cherry of his cigarette burst into an open flame. He destroyed the filter of the cigarette his teeth, and smoke emenated from him.

"SHE SAID WHAT?" You didn't really think that he could be THAT scary, but even you had to back away.

"I just left. She wasn't worth it."

He put the cigarette out and got off the counter. Where he was sitting, the paint had blistered. His eyes went back to normal, and the smoke dissipated. He tossed the cigarette in the trash can and turned to you with a smile that can only be achieved by the Arch-Prince of Hell. It was boyish, terrifying, and insanely attractive all at once.

"Want some payback?"

 

You showed up where he said to meet him, later. You could see Vera's house from here. It was enormous. The house was three stories, with decorative Greek columns, and statuary around the yard. You got the feeling that the statuary was people that had pissed Vera off, and you seriously hoped that you wouldn't be added to the collection. Damien wasn't here yet, but after five minutes, you heard a motorcycle approaching. If you didn't spend all that time looking at him, you wouldn't have recognized him as Damien at first behind the full-face helmet, but you knew it was him. There was one majestic horn protruding from it, and his half horn was sticking out next to it. You always wondered why it was broken, but decided it wasn't time to ask him yet. He parked the bike and pushed down the kickstand, then got off of it. It was a red street bike. He got into a saddlebag, and pulled out three containers of lighter fluid, then took off the helmet and looked up at the house. You looked up too, and you could see Vera getting undressed. He looked away with veiled disgust.

"Her scales always give me the creeps," he said, and tossed you a bottle of the lighter fluid. "There's gasoline in that. You need to be quick so that the fumes don't dissipate, but you take that one and spray it near anything flammable."

"Damien, are you about to set her house on fire?"

He grinned. "Arson is my favorite hobby," he said, and jumped over the hedges. You crawled through them, but he was already halfway across the yard. You looked up. Vera had turned off her bedroom lights. You crept to the house and sprayed the gasoline all over everything. The garden, the bushes in front of her house, and you even hosed down the front door, then crept back to where his bike was. He jumped back over the hedge, pulled out a bottle of tequila, swigged down half the bottle, the took off his white T-Shirt, shoved it in the bottle, lit it with his finger, and threw it. The bottle broke, then the yard caught fire. He smiled and picked you up, lifting you to see over the hedges. It was a glorious sight. The Molotov landed in the front garden, and the gasoline did the trick, spreading the fire around to the back of the house. Vera's light turned on, and she leaned out the window, then screamed. He put you down and pulled you close to him, putting his mouth on yours. You could taste the tequila on his breath. He pulled away, then put his leather jacket back on, covering his naked chest.

"Hop on. I don't want to have to burn down a prison, too," he said and handed you his helmet, turning his bike on. You got on and hugged him tightly, and he howled as he took off down the street, away from the incoming sirens.

"Fuckin' metal!"


End file.
